


Miserable Fucking Weather

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 08:13:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this prompt:<br/>Liam was supposed to go with Harry to the States, but he chickened out and never went to the airport. Three years later he runs into Harry in a coffee shop in London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miserable Fucking Weather

Three years. It had haunted him for three years. To his credit, Liam had been burned before. Not by Harry, but there were still scars and commitment scared him. Flying across and ocean, leaving his family and friends behind, his whole life? That was a commitment he hadn’t been ready to make. And Harry had been so horribly, wonderfully understanding, even though he was receiving the phone call  _as he was boarding the plane,_ because Liam was a fucking coward.

It reminded Liam of exactly why he’d fallen for that boy in the first place. Harry had this inexplicable, irrefutable ability to love everyone who walk into his life  _exactly as they were_. Who the hell does that? If wasn’t as if Harry was flawless himself; he was sensitive and Liam doubted very much that he had any common sense at all, but by god. The boy was beautiful. 

Maybe he couldn’t commit for Harry, but in the three years since, Liam had utterly lost his desire to do so. The curly-headed dope of his dreams was several thousand kilometres away and as punishment, Liam figured fate was never going to let him move on. He was doomed, forever regretting The One Who Got Away. Until.

Until that fateful day in mid-March, when Liam was sexiled for the umpteenth time by his roommate Louis, and his best mate, Zayn. (Liam rued the day he’d introduced the two.) It was sleeting outside. Miserable fucking London and it’s miserable fucking weather, as Liam’s boss, Niall, woud say. The miserable fucking weather (miserable  _fucking_  weather, Liam thought, maybe that was part of the problem) drove him into the tiny coffeeshop around the corner, boasting exorbitantly priced espressos.

Liam slumped against the counter, ordering a cup of London Fog, and muttering darkly about the propriety of drink in conjunction with the miserable fucking weather, when he felt a hand. On his shoulder. Just there, so familiar, so

Harry.

Liam whipped around so fast he was sure he would give himself whiplash, but sure enough. It. Was. Harry. Harold Styles, haunter of dreams, stealer of hearts; living, breathing, speaking. Shit, what was he saying? Harry looked at Liam expectantly, but all Liam could hear was the blood rushing through his body at an alarming rate.

“You came back,” was all that Liam can manage to choke out. Harry bit his lip, trying to hide a smile. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

Harry repeated his question, in that slow, impossibly deep voice. “Are. You. Single?”

Of all the questions he could think to ask, Harry chose that one. “Yes, yes of course,” Liam gasped, feeling like a fish out of water. After all this time and he was here, again-it was too much, too soon.

“Good,” god, Harry’s voice was like velvet. “Because I have been waiting three years to do this again.” And he leaned in and kissed Liam in the middle of the coffeeshop, hungrily, shamelessly.

And suddenly the miserable fucking weather wasn’t quite so miserable.


End file.
